


Thirty Day OTP Challenge

by White_Rabbits_Clock



Category: Avengers, Black Butler, James Bond - Fandom, Kuroshitsuji, Lie to Me (TV), Marvel Universe - Fandom, Ouran Highschool Host Club, The Hobbit, Welcom to Nightvale, xmen - Fandom
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, AU, And Lots of It, Cussing, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluffy, Hawkeye being a dick, James Bond - Freeform, Lie to Me, M/M, Ouran Highschool Host Club - Freeform, Ratings, Sherlock - Freeform, Skyfall, The Hobbit - Freeform, Thilbo, Xmen-freeform, and etc. will change over time., annoyed sebastian, as all hell, bagginshield, characters, eli loker - Freeform, ria torres - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 14,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rabbits_Clock/pseuds/White_Rabbits_Clock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my first Thirty Day OTP Challenge and I'm loving it. It centers around no particular show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not  As Bad As It Used To Be

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Everyone! this is my first Thirty Day OTP Challenge! There may be days where school's too far up my butt for posting but I will try.  
> Comments? Questions? All that good stuff?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the OTPs I can think of. If you've got a show, comment below (yeah, it rhymes). If I've seen it, I'll write about it.

DAY ONE: HOLDING HANDS

FANDOM: OURAN HIGHSCHOOL HOST CLUB

OTP: HARUHI/TAMAKI

In a little bit, she’ll go back inside.

In a little bit, she’ll retreat to the innermost rooms of the house. Her office is there. She’ll work on her  cases to forget.

In a little bit, it will be a necessity, but not as much as it used to be. Tamaki is in the process of curing that.

But for now, Haruhi Fujioka raises those large brown eyes to the sky and reads it. It will rain within the hour. The glass doors open and Tamaki steps out and joins her. With their hands entwined, they tip their heads back and together, they watch that purple and bruised sky that used to scare Haruhi witless. It still does, just not as much as before. Tamaki is in the process of curing that.


	2. Running From Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day two: cuddling somewhere

FANDOM: THE HOBBIT

OTP: THORIN/BILBO

He’s not much of an anything, he’d thought. Not much of a thief, not much of an adventurer, not much of a respectable gentleman, not much of a bachelor. Mostly, he still thinks this. But he doesn’t think himself useless. At least, he doesn’t think himself entirely useless anymore.

Thorin had very nearly died by Azog’s hand. The reason he didn’t die is because of Bilbo. So now Bilbo is now caught between feeling useless and not-useless state of mind.

Now, it’s his turn to guard tonight. He sits and watches the forest, as diligent as a useless-not-useless hobbit may be. He hears a stirring behind him. As he turns to look, his large eyes lock onto Thorin’s form as the dwarf moves to sit next to him.

“Your watch is over, hobbit.” But the generalization is spoken without malice or disdain.

“Oh.”

“But you did not wake me.”

“I wasn’t paying attention to the time.” In reality, he can’t sleep, because when he sleeps, he dreams. And when he dreams, he remembers. Bilbo does not wish to remember.

“Right, because you’re so good at not telling me the truth.” Bilbo would have choked, but he’s used to being unnerved by Thorin, so he doesn’t.

“I am telling the truth. I wasn’t paying attention to the time,” Bilbo repeats. Then a muscular arm wraps around Bilbo’s body and pulls him closer. Caught off balance, he finds his head nestled into Thorin’s shoulder.

“And this has _nothing_ to do with your dreams.” Bilbo goes stiff and silent, not  breathing, not trying to escape. Thorin wraps a previously unseen blanket around the hobbit and rubs a hand up and down his side.

“Go to sleep, Bilbo.”

And he does.


	3. The Laptop of Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day three: gaming/watching a movie

DAY THREE: GAMING/ WATCHING A MOVIE

FANDOM: SKYFALL

OTP: 007/Q

Q glanced left, at James, who has fallen asleep, and right, at his laptop, who hasn’t seen any action all evening. He goes for it. As silently and carefully as possibly, he picks up the sleek black-and-silver scepter from which he rules over the Q-branch.

He flicks the catch with his finger and opens the lid. He logs in and settles down, happy to forget this… disgrace on the TV.

It’s the typing that gives him away. One moment, he’s clicking and tapping happily away, and the next, he feels the laptop snatched effortlessly from him and set on the other side of James. Q has put up with _alot_ of things from James but _this_ … _no one snatches his laptop_.

Q lunges after it with a snarl and feets a strong arm wrap around his waist and hand settle on his stomach. He snarls.

“Fucking give it BACK, GODDAMMIT!!!”

“We’re watching a movie.” The man says calmly.

“YOU FUCKING FELL ASLEEP!!” Q shouts, still struggling.

“And?” At Jame’s indifference, a dark look passes over Q’s face and  he stops struggling. In a deadly calm he invokes what power he has.

“You can either give the laptop back, or you can spend the rest of your time as an agent on flea and lice ridden beds in trashy hotels and putting in three times as much recovery as you actually need.” He sits up and gathers his glasses from where they’ve fallen onto the floor. Then he stands, swivels on his heel, and walks out of the room, leaving the very tool that lets him be the apex predator.

It takes thirty seconds for James to set the laptop on the kitchen table behind Q. He watches the man make earl grey tea with all the calmness of a Quartermaster who did not just lose his laptop.

“What do you want to do, then?” Q doesn’t speak until his tea has finished steeping. When he finally looks at James, it’s like a spider looking at a fly.

They finish the rest of the evening playing the newest Call of Duty. James never once wins.


	4. (Not) Interested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY FOUR: ON A DATE  
> FANDOM: LIE TO ME  
> OTP: RIA TORRES/ ELI LOKER

 

She isn’t interested. Nope. She most definitely is not interested because it’s bad, bad, bad to do things like be interested in your coworker. That doesn’t mean they aren’t on a date. That doesn’t mean they aren’t here for something other than shits and giggles. It just means she isn’t interested.

The restaurant is classy, as are her manners, diction, and dress. For all intents and purposes, they are a classy, well-to-do couple out on a date that Ria is most definitely not interested in. Directly from them is another table with a bachelor. This bachelor is either a shit-eating, murdering, lying, stealing, cheating bitch bag… or he’s been falsely accused.

Hence the date, the non interest, and it’s complete lack of sway in the matter. But Ria’s a good actress. She grew up learning how to not be things that she was and to be things she wasn’t. It lessened the fighting, after all.

Now, she leans forwards, shoulders bunching up around her throat, that slight edge-of-laughter-and-very-enraptured look on her face turning her into a doe eyed fool. It also lowers the neckline of her dress just slightly, showing off more of the rather manicured skin and the rest of her upstairs assets. It’s in the direct line of sight of the bachelor, a one Mr. Timothy Jones.

At the same time, Loker drops his fork (from feigned nervousness) and bends to pick it up. So now Mr. Jones is watching Ria’s breasts while Ria watches Loker’s head (what can be seen) and Loker watches Mr. Jones’ face. Ria goes on playing the starry-eyed fool (and Loker the nervous one)

At the end of the meal, they head out, get into their classy (borrowed) car, and drive off looking like they’re three weeks from engagement. By ten o’clock tomorrow, Mr. Jones is sitting in a jail cell.

And Ria is most definitely not interested.

 


	5. Engrossed and Enraptured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY FIVE: KISSING
> 
> FANDOM: SHERLOCK (BBC)
> 
> OTP: JOHN/SHERLOCK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer than I expected but good all the same.

Sherlock really isn’t sure when it started. He just knows the moment when he realized that this person isn’t bad. Not like everyone else. He’s not accusing. He’s not jealous. He’s human… the closest what one would think of as human… but he’s not bad. He’s not bad for Sherlock. Definitely not bad.

John has his oblivious moments (like now). Sometimes, the thing he latches onto is completely beside the point. Though really, John and Sherlock sometimes have different points to latch onto in the first place. Now, John types slowly and carefully on his laptop. From the small, tight smile on his face, Sherlock has guessed that it’s their latest case (and all the stress and goodness attached to it).

John’s point is to update his blog.

Sherlock is sitting at the kitchen counter staring into his microscope. At least, in John’s peripheral vision, Sherlock’s point is to study whatever interesting thing is on that slide. So John doesn’t look up, even though Sherlock is turned directly towards his friend. In reality, Sherlock is not watching the microscope. Sherlock’s point is to study John, so John is now completely beside the point (Sherlock’s point, I mean).  

People forget that John is a soldier. They always do that. Sherlock does it too, sometimes. It’s times like these, when John is typing slowly and his body is clad in stay-at-home clothing when Sherlock forgets. When John is so focused on that blog, the stress of everything else bleeds away. When John is not paying attention, his shoulders relax (though his spine is still ramrod straight). So, yes, Sherlock forgets that John was a soldier. And yes, he sometimes pays for it.

John, like a good soldier, never completely stops paying attention to his surroundings. He lives in a flat with an exceedingly rude and eccentric genius. When you live in a flat with a guy like that, you tend to notice things.

For instance, it’s been ten minutes since Sherlock even moved. Granted, he can sit on that stool for hours, but he will say things like “phone” or “nicotine patches” and he would shift position on the stool. His shoulders will move just the tiniest bit as he adjusts the microscope. He will lean left or right depending on which hand he’s using to write things down with. His head will dip and sway with one of the dozen tasks he might do while simultaneously looking into a microscope.

In short, Sherlock moves when engrossed. It’s been nearly ten minutes since Sherlock shifted position or said something like “phone” or written something down. John knows these things. He lives with the man. He was a soldier. He knows when he’s being watched.

He’s not worried. Slowly, he types out the last of the blog entry. Quickly, he uploads it and checks his stats. Then he turns to Sherlock.

“You watch me.” Sherlock returned to his not nearly as interesting specimen when he recognized John’s return journey from the World In Which John Writes. He was kicked out of that world permanently after a single entry. Now, hearing the statement (not an accusation, not judgement, not fear or paranoia), Sherlock knows there is no lying his way out of it. Not even subtle lies will convince John the Meticulous Doctor and John the Meticulous Soldier to forget the fact that Sherlock moves when engrossed.

“Yes.” Sherlock states back. He slips off the stool and puts the slide and it’s specimen away before coming and standing in front of John.

“Why?”

“Because you’re interesting.” Doubt blooms on his face. It’s a subtle thing, yes, but in the observant mind of Sherlock Holmes, it’s like a scream in an echoey cave.

“Now I know you’re lying.” Sherlock cocks his head.

“Now how do you know that, Doctor?” John’s eyebrows crease and his posture grows more erect as he considers his best choice.

“You move when you’re engrossed.” John states simply, and he takes Sherlock by surprise. Sherlock hadn’t noticed. Why would he? It hardly matters.

“And what does that have to do with the fact that I was watching you because you are interesting?”

“You are only engrossed in interesting things. You move when you’re engrossed.” Deductive reasoning. He really does underplay his skills.

“Let me explain something, Doctor.” He steps closer and John goes stock still. He moves when he’s scared, he doesn’t when he’s nervous. Sherlock leans forwards so that his mouth is next to John’s ear.

“I. Am not. Engrossed.” Sherlock’s long, tapered hands move up to take John’s neck. Sherlock gives the ear he just whispered into a kiss before dropping another on his jaw. He moves along it, in all it’s five o’clock shadow glory, before pausing at John’s mouth, their noses touching. This is permission. He forgot to ask it earlier, but he doesn’t want to start this off wrong.

John closes the distance.

Sherlock moves when he’s engrossed.

He’s still when he’s enraptured.

 


	6. The Thing About Being the Same Size

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY SIX: WEARING EACH OTHER'S CLOTHING  
> FANDOM: WELCOME TO NIGHTVALE  
> OTP: CARLOS/CECIL

Carlos stared and kept staring, his brain moving just a little bit too sluggishly for him to come up with a plan.  He really needed a plan. He needs a plan to pull his ass out of the fire  (specifically the fire that just burned Cecil’s clothing). He really hadn’t meant to. Cecil left them and they were just there and he was just working and then this goddamn burner turned on by itself and now Cecil’s clothing is burned to a crisp.

He’s going to kill Carlos when he gets out of the shower. So now Carlos needs a plan. It’s a plan he doesn’t have.  He and Cecil wear a similar size…

Carlos goes to his dresser and searches through it to find something suitable for Cecil. He doesn’t have the same style as Carlos, but there are some clean, black jeans in his dresser and a black tee in the drawer above. Quickly, he goes to the bathroom door and knocks softly.

“Yes?” Cecil’s voice asks.

“Um… Cecil?”

“Yes, wonderful Carlos?”

“You know how you left your clothing out in the living room?”

“Yes, perfect Carlos.” The next bit comes out in a rush.

“I was just finishing up an experiment and then the burner turned on by itself and your clothes were there and I have no idea how they got their and I’m really sorry but by the time I realized what was burning your clothes were already ruined and I brought you some of mine and I’m really sorry!”

“...”

“That’s fine, Carlos. Just leave them outside the door. Thank you for trying to fix it.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“No, beautiful Carlos. It wouldn’t be the first time inanimate objects made a mess of things.”

“O-okay. They’re right outside, when you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Carlos.” Cecil says pleasantly. When he comes out, Carlos realizes that the shirt he got is slightly too small, but the pants fit nicely… very nicely. Carlos makes himself look away and pretend like Cecil doesn’t look gorgeous in Carlos’s clothes.

“Are you hungry yet? Pizzas almost ready.” Carlos smiles and stands.

“Yes, that would be nice, thank you.” Cecil says. As soon as Carlos leaves to get the pizza, Cecil laughs silently, very aware of his counterparts embarrassment over Cecil’s burned clothes, how good Cecil looks in his borrowed ones, and how hard Carlos is trying not to make a perceived problem worse.

By the time Carlos comes back with the pizza, Cecil’s face is perfectly neutral, and he pretends not to notice any of the things Carlos has felt this evening.

It’s going to be a fun night...

 


	7. Sebastians and Claude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY SEVEN: COSPLAYING  
> FANDOM: SHERLOCK (BBC)  
> OTP: JOHN/SHERLOCK

John and Sherlock have gotten themselves into some pretty dangerous and very weird cases. Never before had cosplaying been involved in one of them. Never had a serial killer had a fetish for particularly good cosplayers cosplaying a particular character. It probably spoke volumes to Sherlock, but to John, he really didn’t get why, of all the things to be attracted to, this serial killer has to have an M.O. of killing skilled Sebastian Michaelis cosplayers.

Now, for whatever reason, Sherlock has decided that, in order to catch a killer, he should first catch his eye. And from the looks of things, he’s enjoying it.

Sherlock is dressed in all black. The Elizabethan butler suit is an exact replica of the one from the manga, including the Phantomhive crest and silver pocket watch. John spent hours straightening his hair and cutting the back to the proper length. Contacts turned the pale silvery color of Sebastian’s eyes to red with burgundy striations. So now Sherlock looks like an Elizabethan butler.

He tried to get John to play Alois, but the kid wears booty shorts. And if there’s one thing John does not do, it’s wear booty shorts. Nope. No way. Not going to happen. Not over his dead body. Sherlock grinned at that, like John just issued a challenge. This particular challenge is how John wound up playing Baldroy.  

The cook’s outfit is also an exact replica, and John finds it much better than booty shorts. So then. To the convention.

The taxi driver keeps giving them odd looks as his eyes glance from John’s cast iron skillet (yes, it’s an actual cast iron skillet, thank you) to Sherlock’s eyes. Rather unnerving, really, to have a man with red eyes in the back of your cab.

When they finally get to the convention, John is glad to be out of the cab and into the hub of People Who Won’t Look At You Like You’ve Got Three Ruddy Heads. They pay admission and check in and such before Sherlock confidently leads them down past the groups of Fruits Basket and X-Men cosplayers. He tells John who’s cosplaying what book or movie or TV show as they pass.

A group of massive Thor enthusiasts put up an unexpected short bout of noise to their right.

A generic Wolverine costume does nothing to make the wearer look at all like a tough canadian.

A bunch of Attack on Titan cosplayers laugh at a joke.

There’s a group of child Hobbits that swarm past. It takes a while, but Sherlock and John finally see who they’re looking for: the Black Butler kiosk.

The duo’s costumes are of finer make than the rest. John notices a handful of hostile people in another butler uniform. It isn’t long before all the Sebastian’s are in a pissing contest with all the Claudes. Sherlock leans close and whispers in his ear.

“All the Baldroys are over there. The ones with the pink hair and maid outfits are Mey-Rin. All the boys with the carroty hair and gardener’s outfit are Finney. All the old butlers with the silver hair are Tenaka. Everyone in that group is Ciel Phantomhive’s household staff. Go blend.” John nods and moves off. He’d read up on Black Butler but it was confusing to figure out which character goes where.

Quietly, he shifts into the crowd of minor characters and listens to the talk around him. It isn’t long before John can add knowledge to his sparse supply. The group of white-clad butlers are Ash Landers. He’s a transgender angel. The similar looking maids that make up the other half of that group are Angela Blanc (the female form of Ash).

Claude Faustus is commonly referred to as the “Spider.” He serves the Trancy Household (shiver) with the help of Hannah Annafellows her three triplet servants: Thompson, Timber, and Canterbury.

Claude, Sebastian, Hannah, Thompson, Timber, and Canterbury are all demons. The triplets serve Hannah, and the rest are fighting over the respective and collective souls of Ciel and Alois (who are manipulated into being mortal enemies).

In season one, Sebastian fights Ash/Angela over Ciel Phantomhive. Then in season two, after Sebastian kills Ash/Angela he gets into a long, drawn-out game of cat-and-mouse with Claude, who betrays his master in an attempt to gain the soul of Ciel Phantomhive.

Hannah, who by the time of Alois’s death, has fallen in love with the boy, helps him cheat both male demon’s out of both souls.

John has yet to understand the importance of reapers in all this, but he’s catching on. The Phantomhive servants chat with a bunch of Grells and Wills (despite being in frequent confrontation with Ciel, the servants never caught on the the supernatural side and never met the reapers). So there’s no rivalry.

John feels a squeeze on his elbow and turns to see Sherlock walking off. He’s being followed. John trails surreptitiously behind. By the time, the would-be murderer makes his move, John is there and turns him over. Claude. A Claude cosplayer is the one killing all the Sebastians.

Given his new-found knowledge of the anime show, John is not surprised.


	8. Nikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY EIGHT: SHOPPING  
> FANDOM: JAMES BOND  
> OTP: Q/007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another 00Q for you.

007 strode through the mall, looking at different shops, trying to figure out which one his target is in. By chance he looks down. A curly head of unruly hair is riding the escalator. Bond glances at a map of the mall in front and to the right of him. So that’s where he’s headed.

Bond heads into a men’s clothing store, browses a bit, then leaves. He meanders down into the food court, buys a soda (medium, orange fanta) then continues to wander back towards another escalator. He stands like he belongs there.

That’s the first rule of being a spy. Don’t run, walk. Unless your covers been blown and you’re about to be blown sky high. Definitely run. This is not the case. He steps off as the escalator hits the bottom and casually heads past a communal play pen for annoying brats. A young man sits on a bench located near the exit and drinks a smoothie.

Bond walks into a Nike shoe store and buys a pair of generic black and green ones. With his purchase, he walks towards the exit. Something hard and small is slipped into his pocket. Bond gets into the car and heads back to his hotel.

It’s hours before his Quartermaster is in his ear.

“007. That did not require you to buy shoes. We are on a mission.” Bond smiles.

“And to the casual and homicidal eye, my mission was to shop.”

The next time they see each other, the black and green Nikes go home with Q. It’s in his size, after all.  

 


	9. Merits and Faults

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY NINE: HANGING OUT WITH FRIENDS  
> FANDOM: OURAN HIGHSCHOOL HOST CLUB  
> OTP: KYOUYA OOTORI/TAKASHI MORINOZUKA

Today is an off day. Off days don’t come often but when they do they have their faults and their merits. The twins barrel into Haruhi, much to her unamused admonishing and Tamaki’s outraged squawking. Fault: everyone is so much wilder than they are where there’s guests concerned.

Takashi watches the proceedings with one of those ever watchful eyes. The other is on Mitsukuni Haninozuka. He’s eating cake and cheering Haruhi on in that lolita sugary way of his. Merit: Mori is never uncontrolled. Merit: Mitsukuni never eats as much cake as he does when he’s entertaining guests. That doesn’t mean he won’t obtain a sugar high again.

Fault: less and more are measured in small increments when it comes to Honey’s sugar intake.

Kyouya sits on the grass under a tree and tries to factor in the amount of windows the twins will cause Tamaki to be clumsy enough to break. It’s not working very well. They haven’t even started in with their game of kickball. Fault: Tamaki is incredibly clumsy when not around women (with the exception of Haruhi).

Kyouya’s grey eyes meet Mori’s across the way. They know what to expect. The twins have let Haruhi be. It will start soon. Merit: Mori usually tries to cut back on the amount of sugar intake and broken things. It’s not easy to do.

Haruhi has taken her chance and beat it up another hill to sit with Honey. Merit: Haruhi will never eat more than one sugary thing even if she is with guests. She won’t go that far to please anyone.

Kyouya’s eyes remain on Mori for the entire day. In a rare moment alone, they won’t say anything, but they both feel it, that mutual build of like that goes beyond having a mutual friend.

Merit: they both know what secret means.

 


	10. Territorial Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TEN: WITH ANIMAL EARS  
> FANDOM: BLACK BUTLER/ KUROSHITSUJI  
> OTP: SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS/ CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Ciel had seen Sebastian hostile many times. He’d needed to be, to keep his young master safe. What he hadn’t seen is territorial.

Apparently, if one has cat ears, tail, and more than one set of fangs, one gets to be hostile. Apparently, when one has all that (which Sebastian does, by the way) and three different demons approach Ciel Phantomhive with the intent of fucking one’s young master (with or without consent) one gets so territorial that the aforementioned appendages come out from their hiding spot and one looks more like a freaking tiger than a human.

And when you are Ciel Phantomhive, and you are no longer in danger of a night of indiscretion,  you automatically want to pet, said tiger ears. So this is how Sebastian winds up kneeling before Ciel Phantomhive while the boy fingers his large triangular ears. Ciel is completely entranced with the things and he can’t keep his fingers off them. He might later, Sebastian knows, but later is not now. Now, you have to stay here while your bratty master gets his human scented hands all over your ears.

Sebastian has developed iron control for a reason though. He waits until the clock strikes the half hour before he says, “It’s time for bed, young master.” Ciel is startled into looking at Sebastian.

“It can wait.” At this, Sebastian smiles.

“You have a full schedule tomorrow, and I will be here for all time. I promise, even if they are cut off, I can regrow them. But you need a full measure of patience for tomorrow. It is time for bed, my Lord. Ciel’s blue eyes narrow, and it’s with no small amount of reluctance.

“Do you purr?”

“No, my Lord.” He does purr, but Ciel will never even get close to figuring out how. The boy’s lip purses.

“Very well. To bed then. After I pet them one more time.” Inwardly, Sebastian groans. He’s going to wreak _havoc_ on a certain few demons when he catches up to them.

 


	11. These Damn Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TEN: WEARING KIGURUMIS  
> FANDOM: OURAN HIGHSCHOOL HOST CLUB  
> OTP: ALL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry everyone! The (very real, it turns out) shit hit the fan so I was unable to post Day Eleven on Day Eleven. Here it is.

Haruhi is so pissed right now it’s not even funny. The twins chase after her bearing a monstrosity between them, and Tamaki chases after the twins hollering about being a “daddy.” Kyouya sits, mildly amused, and watches stoically (along with Takashi) while the Host Club’s only female entertainer puts hard won evasion skills to the test.

At the moment, she absolutely hates Renge. If that stupid, good-for-nothing busybody hadn’t freaking popped into the room with her grand, new, spectacularly and detrimentally horrible idea, Haruhi would have had her geometry homework done by now. Instead she’s running from a kigurumi and everyone else is just content to watch her go. Haruhi’s eyes narrow. She’ll have to do something about that.

The girl shimmys up a tree and sits on one of the stronger lowest branches, not at all bothered to be sitting in a tree. Not with this new idea that’s forming in her mind, anyways. We’ll see how they like being chased by a wanna be pikachu.

“Come on, Haruhi! It’s just a few minutes! We want to see how adorable you look in it!” Haruhi smirks and leans out over empty space and calls back down to them.

“I know something better than that.” The twins look at eachother. One of the most dangerous things they’ve ever encountered is Haruhi smirking. It means she’s had a brilliant Demon Queen idea.

“What’s better than you in a pikachu kigurumi?” That mouth quirks again, and Tamaki has made it into hearing range.

“Kyouya in a pikachu kigurumi.” The host clubs resident Scariest Person On the Planet has no idea what’s just popped out of his indebted host’s mouth. He will, though.

“Why Kyouya?” Haruhi’s head cocks to the side and she looks at them like it’s the next logical step.

“Who’s the most serious person you’ve ever met?” Tamaki steals a surreptitious glance at his best friend, sitting a ways away on a blanket. It’s still an hour before the Club opens for business. It’s enough time to be stupid and still be ready. Besides, Haruhi won’t be coming down out of that tree unless she’s not being threatened by a giant pikachu costume and endless cheek-pinching and space-violating.

Tamaki’s eyes slide right then left at the twins. Subtly, Hikaru catches Honey’s attention, who joins them in curiosity, abandoning a slice of cake for the time being. The plan is passed around as Takashi watches from by Honey’s cake in hidden amusement. He knows exactly what they are going to do. He would join in, but Honey’s cake needs guarding.

As one, the Foursome of Idiotic Ideas attack the Demon King with the much too large kigurumi, much to Kyouya’s dismay, Mori’s amusement, and Haruhi’s relief. Swiftly, she swings down out of the tree and goes to sit by Takeshi, recognizing sanctuary when it presents itself.

This is the last time the twins are so easily tricked by Haruhi Fujioka into doing anything as dumb as putting a kigurumi on Kyouya Ootori. It lasts about a week, until the twins decide to give Haruhi a make over, and they’re out on the lawn for a spring time session of Hosting.

These damn ideas.

 


	12. Come Home With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TWELVE: MAKING OUT  
> FANDOM: JAMES BOND  
> OTP: Q/007

Q rubs his eyes for the umptienth time. It isn’t often that his poor sleeping habits catch up with him but this is one of them. He can feel every particle of air torturing his eyes. No amount of Earl Grey is going to fix it for even a few more minutes.    Q has work to do, though, and it’s not going anywhere unless he does it himself. So his nimble fingers keep flying and his eyes keep burning. He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice when 007 enters in as quietly as he ever has and watches Q stifle yet another yawn.

Hands settle non threateningly against his thin shoulders and Q stiffens, unsure who it is through his sleep addled brain.

“Relax, Q. It’s just me.”

“I have work to do, 007.” A chuckle comes from directly above his head. 007 leans down and whispers into his ear.

“It’s time to go home, love.”

“No, it’s not,” Q says irritably. He has work to do.

“Yes.. it… is,” 007’s tongue snakes out to encircle the shell of Q’s ear. If it’s even possible, Q grows even stiffer and tries to lean forward, but he’s stopped by 007’s hand.

“Shut up.”

“No, thank you.” 007’s voice is so breathy and inviting that Q just wants to give up and… NO!

Q jolts himself out of the bay he was drifting in, spins around, and stands up so fast that 007 nearly pulls a gun on him.

“I have work to do. I’ll just drink more tea, and I’ll be fine.” Q glares. Said glare swiftly disappears as that smooth hand snakes out to grip his chin and 007’s mouth brushes gently over Q’s.

“I’m supposed to take care of you when you aren’t taking care of me, Quartermaster. It’s time to go home. You are going, by the way; even if I have to drag you.” Too tired to control himself, Q doesn’t fight it when 007 urges his mouth open and slips that rather active tongue inside. 007 steps closer and pulls Q against him, so that almost all of his weight is rested against the toned body of 007.

007’s free hand runs down Q’s ass, enjoying it’s feel through the fabric. A small breath escapes Q. 007 is winning. Now, for the final obstacle. 007 leans back just slightly so that he can speak without slurring his words against his lover’s mouth.

“Come home with me.” Q just barely manages to shake his head.

“Don’ wan ta.”

“Very well.” 007 raises the hand that was convincing Q’s ass what he wants to do. He kneads the topmost vertebrae of Q’s spine. The man turns to putty.

“Come home with me.” 007 says again.

A very lank Q just groans.

 


	13. How It Works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY THIRTEEN: EATING ICECREAM  
> FANDOM: AVENGERS  
> OTP: THE WINTER SOLDIER/ CAPTAIN AMERICA

Bucky sits on the couch, shoulders hunched in tension and annoyance. Clint shoots arrows no more than an inch away from him, trying to get a reaction. It’s really annoying. The questions are worse.

“So… how does this work, between you and Steve…?” Bucky says nothing.

“I mean, I figured it wouldn’t work between the two of you,” another arrow narrowly misses the back of his head, “because of the time you were born in but it does.” Bucky gets up to leave. An arrow goes past his nose.

“Please tell-”

“Shut up, Clint.” Steve says calmly from the door. A bag with a couple of vaguely cylindrical shapes hangs in his hand as he walks into the room.

“But I was just-”

“Shut. Up.” Steve says it lightly, but he’s angry at Clint. The man (a) has no right to ask questions like that one and (b) has no right to bother Bucky. Steve moves towards Bucky and asks him if he’s okay with his eyes. The Winter Soldier nods. An arrow zooms past a centimeter from the back of Steves head. The man catches it before it gets there.

“Hall. Now.” Bucky watches as Steve sets the grocery bag down and hauls Hawkeye out into the hall. He’s not worried. He read the anger. While he waits, Bucky turns his attention to the grocery bags. Ooh.

By the time Steve steps back in with a (grudgingly) apologetic Hawkeye, Bucky has already eaten half a carton of mint chocolate chip icecream. Steve smiles to himself as he picks up the rocky road carton and the spoon Bucky got from the kitchen. Within a minute, they are both chowing down as they listen to Thousand Foot Krutch. Clint suddenly understands how it works between the two of them.

 


	14. Not Hungry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY FOURTEEN: GENDERSWAPPED  
> FANDOM: SHERLOCK (BBC)  
> OTP: SHERLOCK HOLMES/ JOHN WATSON

She really isn’t hungry, this time around. She’s spending quite some time convincing John of that particular truth that’s usually a lie. It isn’t working and it definitely isn’t fair. John isn’t showing any signs of slowing down.

“Come on, Sherlock…”

“I have told you before and I’ll tell you again, I’m Not Hungry!”

“Just like you didn’t lose that much blood, right? Or maybe like you had no idea Mary was behind me? Or maybe-”

“Okay, okay, I get it. This time I am telling the truth.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” The statement is perfectly contradictory, because Coriander Sherlock Scott Holmes cannot possibly show Johannisson “John” Watson that she’s telling the truth.

“Well how the hell am I supposed to do that?” The indignance takes her voice up a couple of notches, much to John’s amusement.

“You don’t, love. That is the point.” They continue walking, Sherlock gaining a small and vengeful victory as John has to struggle to keep up.

“You don’t have to walk so fast, you know.” Sherlock smirked.

“I know.”

“Very well.”  A mischievous and surreptitious smile tugged on the corner of John’s mouth. Inwardly, Sherlock groans in excitement. John, when pushed, could have the most detrimentally vengeful sense of humor ever.


	15. Nickolai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY FIFTEEN: WEARING A DIFFERENT STYLE  
> FANDOM: BLACK BUTLER/KUROSHITSUJI  
> OTP: SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS/GRELL SUTCLIFF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure if Grell's reapery bartender outfit is significantly different, so tell me when you comment, please.

“Are you sure about this?” Grell asks, uncertain. Everytime he and Sebastian met, they wound up trying to kill each other. Admittedly, it was fun and exciting and (unlike taking the demon to his bed) it wasn’t looked down upon. They aren’t fighting tonight, though. Tonight, Sebastian has a game, and Grell is playing along. Unfortunately, the other players are Ciel Phantomhive and William T. Spears.

“Very. Whatever is trying to kill you is also trying to kill my young master. That is not a good idea.”

“Obviously.” Ciel snorts from where he’s leaning against the wall.

“But why are we switching spots?” Here the protective, psychopathical smile that always graces Sebastian’s face right before he does something drastic or elaborate in protection of his master.

“It is my job to be the bait, but I can’t leave my master unguarded because not only will I be missed, but I am not going to leave my master unguarded.”

“So you’re sure about this?”

“Very.”

“Then let’s get on with it. I’m tired of running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off.” Sebastian smiles at Ciel in a way so subtly condescending that the boy almost misses it.

“Oh you’ve been running much more strategically than that.” Ciel’s annoyance spikes.

“Get. On with it.”

“Very well.” With a smirk, Sebastian meets Grell’s eyes and cocks his head to the side. In a few seconds, Sebastian’s facial features have subtly shifted into the sharper ones of Grell Sutcliff. He grins. A mouth full of dangerously sharp teeth mirrors Grell’s own smile.

A few seconds after Sebastian shifts shapes, Grell follows suit, so that the butler and the reaper appear to have merely switched spots instead of switched their entire bodies around.

“Show time.” Grell says, a smooth row of white teeth replacing the fangs now residing in Sebastian’s mouth.

With a nod, Sebastian picks up Grells chainsaw by the door and steps out of it. Then he turns back and says, almost as an after thought, something in a strange language.

“Nëse pronari im duhet të dëmtohen , atëherë nuk do të jetë Xhehennemi për të paguar .” Then he was gone, heeled footsteps tapping down the passageway.

“What did he just say?”

“Nothing.” William says, annoyance covering the apprehensiveness in his voice.

“Why don’t you want to tell me.”

Grell smirks.

“Sebastian rarely says anything you couldn’t understand. When he does, it never ends well for those who cross him. Will’s rather apprehensive now.”

“Why would Sebastien say something I can’t understand?”

“Oh, it’s not about you not understanding it, it’s about the language itself. He just spoke in Draelix; one of the most ancient languages of all time. If you ever see the physical manifestation of your contract, it will be written in the same language.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what it means?”

“Yes. I was just trying to enlighten you since you trust Sebastien as far as you can throw him, despite him being permanently bound to you. He said “If my master should come to harm, then there  will be hell to pay.”

Ciel fell quiet, digesting this information.

 

…

Out on the street, Sebastian strides down the narrow way, copying Grell’s mannerisms to the letter. He hears the creature behind him, and, true to Grell’s behavior, he spins dramatically around, grins, and hefts the chainsaw.

“You shouldn’t lie, demon, it will only hurt worse.” Before, Sebastian can react, the creature has wrapped around him, slipping under Grell’s clothing and stretching red flush against Sebastian's body. Long red hair is soaked in blood as Sebastian turns on the chainsaw and spatters black matter everywhere.

A sharp pain stabs his hand as the black shadows stop fighting and simply hold him while the pain encompasses his entire mind and body. Sebastian knows what’s happening, and he writhes and fights to escape, but it is over all too soon and the shadows retract and condense, showing the form of a massive man. His indian skin and curling black hair standing out and beautiful in the half-moon light. Sebastian strips Grell’s leather glove from his hand and stares at his contract.

All color is gone from it and only a faint, delicate scar remains. the demon can no longer feel Ciel’s presence.

“Why?” His voice is strained as the man kneels in front of him and takes Sebastian’s transformed face in his hand.

“Is it not obvious? It’s time for a new game, meva de canvis.” And then he is gone, unbound shadows bleeding back from whence they came. My canvas, he said. Sebastian pushes himself up, every fiber of his being telling him to just sleep from a while. It is worse than when Undertaker stabbed him through the core of his being with his death scythe.

The air spins and giggles around him while his vision is blurry and tilted on it’s shattered axis. He stares until he loses focus and keeps staring until he can see clearly again. Then he smooths Grell’s clothing into place and stands straight up. It is time for a confrontation.

…

Everyone in the room can smell the blood in Sebastian’s now red hair. The darkened roots and streaks further gave him away. But when he stepped into the room, he appeared unhurt aside from a superficial cut on his forehead mostly hidden by Sebastian’s (Grell’s) hair.

His eyes find Ciel and, when he’s surmised that nothing has disturbed him this night, steadies his gaze on William. It’s time for a few answers.

“Unë u përplas me dikë sonte interesante.” The Draelix that pours from his mouth signals just how dangerous he is right now.

“What, pray tell, would drive you to point out something so obvious?”

“Ti e di saktësisht se çfarë ka ndodhur.”

“No, I don’t.” Sebastian breaks into English, leftover Draelix coloring his voice, the poised english accent he held but an hour ago completely gone. Grell realized that Draelix is probably Sebastian’s native language, not a long dead one he simply learned.

“Nickolai is back, and you said nothing.” Sebastian’s appearance seems to be shifting from Grell’s face, back to Sebastian, and to another one entirely.

“I didn’t know Nickolai was even alive to be back in the first place.”

“Yes, you did. It’s your duty to know of the presence of the very creature you’re sworn to fight against. If you did not know than you are unfit for your duty and your glasses. Will visually angers and he stalks across the room. He doesn’t come too close, though. The two of them are six feet apart, and Grell feels his heart break.

Will- his beautiful, stoic, cold Will- failed to mention Nickolai?

“Of course, it’s not hard to figure out why…” Sebastian says. His signature quirky, lipless smile gives his aim away before he speaks. “After all, Nickolai is prone to drastic and detrimental displays of power. One hit, and I would spend precious energy recovering. This in turn would make me weak enough to be beaten and killed in combat.”

Will had been trying to kill Sebastian for years. It never worked. He cocks his head to the side and fully smiles, and Grell wishes he knows how to do it; make himself look so frighteningly insane that even Will is not keen in finishing him off.

“Come on, then, finish me off. See if you are worth the shoes you walk in.

Will rushes him.

Sebastian savagely gripping Will’s head and twisting sharply. At the same time he turns so that Ciel doesn’t see the body. He glares at Grell. Come and get me, he seems to say. Then he sweeps Ciel up and into the light and Grell realizes that it’s time to return. For the first time in a long time, Grell feels genuine protectiveness again.

He wants to take care of Sebastian Michaelis.

 


	16. If

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY SIXTEEN: DURING THEIR MORNING RITUALS  
> FANDOM: JAMES BOND  
> OTP: 00Q

Q

Sometimes, he’s up before the alarm next to his head can beg to be shot and killed. He jumps into the shower and scrubs all trace of foreign and non-foreign substances from his skin and hair until he’s clean and neat. Then, he gets out, gets dressed, and brushes his teeth. By the time he exits his bathroom completely assembled in what some would call a superhuman time.

Sometimes, he goes to his kitchen and puts on a pot of tea. As the water boils, he’ll drop the earl grey in and leave it to steep. When it’s done, he’ll take his tea to the livingroom and drink it slowly and nicely. Then he’ll make another. Before he steps out of his house, he’ll have drunk three and be ready for the day.

If he wakes up in his apartment, that is.

If he wakes up in his office, it’s straight to the tea and back to work.

 

JAMES

If James wakes up in his apartment, it’s silently, and without the use of an alarm. He’ll notice everything in the room before he opens his eyes. He’ll know if something has changed during the time he spent recharging his oft exhausted body. If something has indeed changed, he’ll switch to survival mode until he learns why. If nothing has, then he’ll debate whether this cocoon of warmth is actually worth leaving.

In the past, it usually wasn’t. Now it usually is.

If he makes the decision to get up, he’ll make coffee, prepare himself for the day (usually with a shower) and drink an entire pot of deliberately made coffee while sitting in his living room. He’ll enjoy it and hang on to that sense of semi-peace for as long as he can. When he finally steps outside his front door (he checks it first) He’s ready to deal with the inevitably shit storm that will come rain on his parade.

If they wake up together, it is earlier Q is usually late getting in the shower, both coffee and tea are made, and they usually drink them both wrapped in the scent of the other. It’s good.

When they finally step out the front door (James will check it) they are ready to own the shitstorm.


	17. Buried well and deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY SEVENTEEN: SPOONING  
> FANDOM: BLACK BUTLER  
> OTP: SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS/ CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

He really wasn’t sure how this happened. Nor was he going to express his confusion. Still, he had no idea how this happened. His sharp mind ticks back over the events of the weeks and he realizes that it must have been when Ciel realized that the fallout of this particular multi-faceted confrontation would be their contract. He doesn’t yet know it has allready has been removed, but he can feel that it will be result. Now it is a question of when Sebastian will tell his former master that their contract was over on the first night.

He looks down at the creature curled against him, seeking something other than a master/servant relationship from Sebastian. The butler himself was spooned against his back, doing what Ciel had dictated. Sebastian had once done the very same thing.

He understood, really, why Ciel does what he does. The same vein of desperation had once shown in his eyes, before he learned to bury it deep and bury it well. He’s sure that if he looked hard enough, he’d find that childish desperation to unearth any scrap of love that could be had. This had been a long time ago, of course.

Back then his name had been Dominiq. Back then, he was born an albino. That was just after he lost his sanity.

He watches the boy and debates the merits of gently stroking his hair. It looks like he is asleep but he is not. Sebastian reaches down and runs those smooth, tapered fingers over that silken hair. It isn’t long before the boy is asleep for real.

Spooning. Who knew?

 


	18. The Quiet Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY EIGHTEEN: DOING SOMETHING TOGETHER  
> FANDOM: OURAN HIGHSCHOOL HOST CLUB  
> OTP: HARUHI FUJIOKA/ KYOUYA OOTORI

The quiet moments are the best, Kyouya’s come to realize. These moments where Haruhi can focus solely on him, those large, hazel eyes watching raptly as he went over the amount of debt she owes and the amount she’s paid off. Slowly, she’s beginning to trust him.

It’s not something she does often. That much is clear. She trusts in the fact that he will never force her into doing something she doesn’t want to do. Tamaki, the twins and Honey do this sometimes, though they don’t mean too. It’s calm around Kyouya, though, so she trusts that she won’t find herself in a kigurumi or stuck in an impossible situation.

It is just numbers with Kyouya. There’s a number for her debt (which she wholeheartedly believes in paying back) There’s a number for what she’s paid off (it rises so much faster than she ever thought it would). There’s a number for the time that has gone by (which rises steadily) and there’s a number for the projected amount of time it will take for her to completely pay back her debt (which is actually decreasing. It is safe with Kyouya.

It is in these moments that Kyouya sees the tension drain from those slender shoulders. When the mathematical portion of Haruhi’s mind takes over, her shoulders relax as she returns to a place so far within her realm of comfort that she stops worrying and stressing. She puts the homework assignments and schedule and the budget out of her head. She is focused.

Then it changes. Kyouya tilts his head to the side slightly and his mouth quirks in something he rarely gives to anyone. Not even Tamaki is acquainted with this: a genuine smile. But Haruhi recognizes it the first time. Just as she recognizes the fast paced of her heart when Kyouya leans toward her and she meets him halfway.

Haruhi Fujioka is in love with Kyouya Ootori. The feeling is mutual.

 


	19. Understatement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY NINETEEN: IN FORMAL WEAR  
> FANDOM: XMEN  
> OTP: CHARLES XAVIER/ ERIK LEHNSHERR

DAY NINETEEN: IN FORMAL WEAR

FANDOM: XMEN

PAIRING: CHARLES XAVIER/ ERIK LEHNSHERR

CHARLES

He’s not sure how he got roped into it, this… event thing. Nor is he sure how he managed to agree to it. Here he is though, at a function in honor of God-Knows-Who. The champagne is only half bad (for snobbish people who consider themselves better, their tastes are rather average) and no one seems overly intent on singling him out with these who-are-you-supposed-to-be-and-why-aren’t-you-under-your-rock gaze and (even worse) questions. Not for the first time, Charles Xavier slides into his politically benevolent and never annoyed alter ego. He’s not sure there’s another way about it.

And then the crowds part. The murmurs pick up and die along a certain line, and the telepath strains to see who exactly is causing such a sophisticated emotion.

His longish brown hair is swept back and feather soft, begging to be touched. His roughened, calloused hand is covered in white kid gloves and holds the delicate step of a champagne glass. The dark of his suit highlights the pale skin and the sharp facial features to a detrimental degree. His mouth is quirked to a half smile while his eyes sweep the room, looking for one figure in particular.

**  
  
**

ERIK

He knows his friend will be uncomfortable and that he will deadpan for all he’s worth, so his eyes sweep the room while simultaneously dealing with what is directly in front of his face. Crystalline eyes pick out the slight frame of Charles Xavier, decked out like a penguin, political mask serving him well. You couldn’t shame the man into leaving if you were paid to, that mask said.

The black with the silk cobalt tie practically begged for attention, while cooly pointing out that he doesn’t care if you deliver. His dark curls gave off a silken sheen. The his entirety glows with it.

Erik circles until most have lost interest and his face has been absorbed into the masses. Then he makes his move.

Charles hears a voice in his ear.

“You look rather impassive tonight, Charles.” The tiniest of smiles ticks his mouth up on the left side.

“And you look popular.”

“Mmm for the time being, yes. I like to think of it as the shark syndrome.” Charles has to stop his head from turning towards his friend.

“Shark Syndrome?”

“Yes. You know how it goes: they all swim towards the fresh meat.”

“That’s rather gruesome for a bunch of party goers.”

“Correction. It’s politically enmeshed goers of a sad excuse for a party. And it fits perfectly."

Charles chuckles lightly. The center of attention shifts closer to him and subtly slides one tappered finger along Charles' hip, leaning ever closer at the same time.

In that private little alcove of peace Charles eaked out for himself, the deadliest shark in the room makes his move.

"Of course, without all that money, that'd be minnows..."

Charles' breath catches as he answers.

"Yes, I suppose you're correct on that account," says the man who can manipulate minds to the man who can manipulate metals.

A chuckle emenates next to his ear.

"Always one to understate things. I will see you later, my friend." He slips back into the crowd, and Charles knows that Erik will be doing more than "seeing". Understatement indeed.


	20. Said the Spider to the Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TWENTY: DANCING  
> FANDOM: BLACK BUTLER  
> OTP: CIEL PHANTOMHIVE/ SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line ""Come into my parlour," said the Spider to the Fly" is from a poem by Mary Howitt.  
> Props and kudos to her for making such a truism.

Ciel supposes he should have seen it coming. He thinks that the only thing he didn’t see coming is their eventual separation, and after the Noah’s Ark problem, he supposed he had seen it all. So yeah, he should have seen the fact that Sebastian would eventually have to take a disguise that placed the butler away from his master.

He watches Sebastian now as he hunts down a man without ever looking at him. Ciel doesn’t understand how Sebastian does it, but for some reason, he’s doing it while in a graceful, eye catching waltz. For just a moment, butler and master catch eyes. That sarcastic brow quirks, and “Lord Castro” sweeps away his partner once more.

For just a moment, Ciel feels terribly alone, standing and watching his friend of eight years handle crowds he can barely stand to look at. Then he remembers the quirk and the gaze that says not long now. The next time Sebastian faces Ciel, the boy gives an eyebrow quirk of his own, and Sebastian equates it with “come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.”

 

A few hours later, that very same look passes from Sebastian to the man.


	21. Through His Stomach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TWENTY ONE: COOKING/ BAKING  
> FANDOM: THE HOBBIT  
> OTP: THORIN OAKENSHIELD/ BILBO BAGGINS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments, everyone!

DAY TWENTY-ONE: COOKING/ BAKING

FANDOM: THE HOBBIT

OTP: BILBO BAGGINS/ THORIN OAKENSHIELD

He knows without looking at it that the meat will be bland. To Bilbo, meat, when cooked over a fire that isn’t in a hearth and on a stick that isn’t a metal rod deliberately made for just that purpose, is unappetizing. Unfortunately, when you travel, there is no such thing as a great stone hearth and a specially made iron rod for cooking meat that wasn’t brought down with the same arrow that will eventually be used to kill an orc tomorrow.

He glances at the forest around them. He could make it work, he knows. He could make sure the meat is flavored. They haven’t finished skinning it yet, after all. The hobbit stands. He’s watched by a pair of diamond eyes.

He goes and crouches by his pack, digging and digging. When he finds the secret pocket, and the small, sturdy vial in it, he pulls it out, exhaling in relief when he discovers the vial unscathed. He’d forgotten about this potent mix of meat seasoning.

It is highly strong, and while the thing is as tall as his palm is wide, and about two inches in diameter, it would only take a few pinches to flavour the meat. He turns and watches Bombur and Kili. It is now or never. Bilbo stands and sidles closer, his unassuming burglar feet not drawing any attention, except from one silent spectator.

“Uh, guys?” He asks quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. They turn.

“What is it, Bilbo?” The hobbit purses his lips together.

“I uh… have some spices... “ They give him a wary look.

“What kind of spices?”

…

Later, after the company has eaten their fill, Thorin watches Bilbo rest with his back against a tree, eyes half lidded. Thorin glances at his own pack. He’s sure he doesn’t have what the thief is used to, but since the man is out of pipeweed and has been for a week, now, it won’t be denied.

Carefully, he extracts the tin, stands, and makes his way over to Bilbo.

“Burglar.” The Hobbit squints up in confusion. Thorin takes a seat beside him, pipe and weed in hand.

“I noticed that the meat tasted a sight better than anyone was suspecting.” The Hobbit nods.

“My mother left behind a bottle of spices. I forgot they were there.” He says, by way of explanation. Thorin stills his smile, takes out his pipe, lights it, and offers a tin to Bilbo.

“Than allow me to return the favor.” Bilbo stiffens, then sputters.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do th-”

“Bilbo.” Those crystalline eyes bore into his. Bilbo picks up the tin with a quiet word of thanks.

 


	22. Not Very Perceptive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TWENTY TWO: IN COMBAT, SIDE BY SIDE  
> FANDOM: SHERLOCK  
> OTP: (PLATONICAL) SHERLOCK/ MYCROFT

“Must you always get into trouble, brother mine?” Mycroft says opaquely from his position in the middle of the room. From where he is, he has the entirety of the back half of the building in view.

“It isn’t actually my fault this time, Fatcroft.” The building is squat, with a sheet-metal exterior. No sound emanated from the inside, leading both Sherlock and Mycroft to think the thing abandoned. In reality, the deceptive quiet was due to a thick sound wall that makes up the second layer of the building. The interior is another sheet layer skin.

“I’ve never been fat a day in my life,” Mycroft replies acidly, index finger tapping on the handle of the cane. They are surrounded by a gang of… questionable characters, most of which have knives. They’ve probably been warned off the guns because of the tendency for bullets to ricochet off metal walls.

“I was talking about your ego,” Sherlock bites back. Honestly, it’s not like this is a new thing. Trouble always follows Sherlock no matter how little he does to cause it. It was pure pride that led Mycroft to think this a good idea.

“Will the two of you shut up?!” John interjects, his soldier’s eyes watching the upper levels. The first floor contracts at the ceiling to form most of a floor. The center appears to have been cut out, so that there is a large square of space where the second floor drops away. Guardrails line the space and, though John can’t see it, just three feet back, another wall circumnavigates the hole, allowing for separate small rooms.

“It isn’t as if we aren’t paying attention, John.” Mycroft says for the both of them, fingers still tapping, eyes still surveying. They currently stand at a stalemate.

“I don’t give a damn. Shut the hell up.” John says calmly, knowing he has Mycroft’s attention now.

“But John-” Sherlock says before he’s interrupted.

“I see you made it, Mr. Holmes.” John doesn’t swing his attention against the three people facing him but his focus is on this psychopath’s words.

“In fact, I see you brought an unwanted guest.” The Holme’s boys are silent, unwilling to confirm that the man John privately thinks of as the Pharaoh is indeed talking to Sherlock and not Mycroft on the off chance that they are wrong.

“Your red haired friend looks rather posh… not someone I’d expect to be running around after a damn fool and his croney. Sherlock’s shoulders visibly stiffen before he schools himself, mind rapidly deciding on a strategy. Mycroft’s index finger taps three times as he reads his brother’s intention.

“Unfortunately for you, Mr. Thorne, I don’t really give a shit.” Sherlock dives forwards, smoke dispensing from his gloves. John takes his three people head on, while Mycroft dances from man to man on his side and whatever side he pleases, the chemical spread over his hands not giving them a chance.

When there is just the trio and the psychopath left, Sherlock cocks his head and opens his mouth to say something, pauses, and tries again.

“You were wrong, Mr. Thorne.” The man copies Sherlock’s movement.

“Why is that?” Sherlock smirks. Then he lunges forwards, banks to the sharp right when the man does and has him down before he can put his combat skills to use.

John is not a lackey.

His brother does not simply “run after” him.

Not very perceptive of this Mr. Thorne.

 


	23. If You Say So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TWENTY THREE: ARGUING  
> FANDOM: BLACK BUTLER  
> OTP: CIEL PHANTOMHIVE/ SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS

“Explain yourself.” Ciel spits, pissed at his butler’s actions. He glares holes into the man’s face. Or at least, if he wasn’t speaking to a flipping demon, there would definitely be holes.

“You were in danger.”

“You could have done something different than fucking blowing the whole damn thing!”

“No, there wasn’t.” Sebastian’s voice doesn’t raise and he looks totally unaffected by Ciel’s tantrum.

“Yes, there was! A distraction would have worked just fine.”

“He’s very myopic. Nothing short of killing him would have stopped him.”

“You’re SUCH A LIAR!!” Ciel yells at the top of his lungs. At that, Sebastian’s chin raises slightly and his eyes narrow. The look on his face is cold enough to incinerate with veins of condescension and annoyance.

“If you say so, My Lord,” Sebastian deadpans, not bothering to rectify the statement. He doesn’t need Ciel to trust him. If the boy refuses to listen, well that’s on his own head.

Ciel stares for a few moments, anger draining away. He opens his mouth to say something- anything- but nothing came out. The doubt is clear on his face as it intertwines with guilt and fear. Sebastian does not drop his gaze. Finally, Ciel snaps his mouth shut and sits in his chair, picking up a pen.

“Prepare dinner.” The butler nods.

“Yes, my lord.” He leaves, the door closing without fanfare and his footsteps making nary a sound.

Ciel Phantomhive stares at the blank sheet of stationery, inkless pen poised above it.

 _If you say so, My Lord_. Is that all Sebastian is? What he says the demon is? And that look, what was that? It was as if Sebastian had cut himself off.

The Little Lord can’t shake the feeling of utter aloneness as his butler serves him dinner, the perfect, quiet servant.

 


	24. Won't Be Fixed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TWENTY FOUR: MAKING UP AFTARWARDS  
> FANDOM: BLACK BUTLER  
> OTP: SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS/ CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm not sure how well this scene lines up with both characters, so it would be great if you all could tell me.

“I know you aren’t a liar,” Ciel says, eyes glued to the passing scenery as the carriage makes it’s way towards this newest crime scene, towards the slums of London, “and I’m sorry.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The demon doesn’t react beyond the required response. The ice is still in their relationship. He does as he’s told, he acts and speaks and works as he’s supposed to, but he doesn’t tease anymore. Everything he would normally tear apart is met with stoic deadpanning.

Ciel watches him with something akin to desperation in his eyes. His butler _can’t_ leave him alone. He just can’t. It isn’t fair. All he did was lose his temper one time. He didn’t even hit him. All he did was call him a name he’s been called dozens of times before by dozens of different people.

“Sebastian...” The demon focuses his eyes on his Little Lord. He knows what his Master is feeling. He knows the boy wants him to react and live and color Ciel’s world as he did not so long ago- with the anger, annoyance, and frustration of having a butler who is stubbornly antagonistic and thoughtfully sarcastic.

The boy does something not even Sebastian saw coming. Ciel Phantomhive lunges forwards, mounts the seat on either side of Sebastian’s crossed legs, grabs the lapels of his coat, and kisses his butler. Sebastian just takes it, knowing that, as the servant in all of this, he doesn’t get a choice. But he doesn’t enjoy or indulge in it.

He understands that Ciel must have gathered enough about his nature to think that this could fix things between them. Ciel pulls back and checks Sebastian’s reaction. Nothing has changed. That ridiculously handsome face shows not even a fleck of emotion.

“Why are you so cold?” Ciel sighs as he leans his forehead against Sebastian’s.

“It is my nature.” Ciel almost can’t hold the tears threatening to fall down his face. His rock is _gone_. The one thing he thought would stay the same forever just went and changed on him. His butler- his Sebastian, just pushed him beyond the realm of anything that isn’t strictly duty. He slips off the butler and back into his seat.

Ciel doesn’t apologize often, but when he does, he means it. Sebastian knows this. That’s why he said sorry in the first place. He wants Sebastian to know he means it. _He wants to fix it_. Ciel wants to undo the argument. He wants to put the bridge between the two back together. But he can’t do this without Sebastian, and the demon doesn’t want to let him in again. The bridge is broken.

This is one of those things that won’t be fixed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know that Ciel acts a lot like Alois in this chapter and that the scene is totally out of character but I thought it would make sense because:  
> (A) When Ciel is at the Trancy Manner under Claude Faustus' care, he's in the garden and begins to hit the roses (and eventually Hannah). He starts on the roses after he blushes deeply when he thinks of his butler. That sounds like a bit of unwanted love right there.  
> (B) Secondly, when they are aboard the cruise ship with all of the zombies, Sebastian is stabbed by Undertaker and shows signs that the stabbing actually hurt, and Ciel orders him to sleep and rest when they get back, signalling that on some level, he actually cares about Sebastian.  
> (C) It's Ciel's habit to use everyone around him and they all end up dying. Because Sebastian can do anatomically impossible things (like cough up bullets shot through his brain), Ciel finds that the butler is very solid compared to everything else.   
> (D) If you add in Sebastian's devotion (which isn't something he gets so completely from anything else) then it's all but impossible for Ciel to avoid forming some kind of attachment to Sebastian. Having the demon totally do an about face and block his Young Master from everything not strictly necessary would be like shooting Ciel in the foot.


	25. Unfair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TWENTY FIVE: STARING INTO EACH OTHER'S EYES

Most days, when Carlos’ eyes are as open as they are now, it’s in surprise. Not today. No, today, he managed to get into an argument and a subsequent bet with Cecil Baldwin. Fuchsia eyes meet brown ones across the wooden table, each determined not to lose in the first of their many staring contests.

Cecil breaks the silence first.

“I won’t hold it against you if you give up.”

Carlos snorts. “Fat chance, Cecil.”

Cecil figured out a while ago that when he tilts his head at a certain angle, Carlos can’t stand him. He does so now.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop that.”

“But I’m not doing anything, wonderful Carlos.”

“Yes, you are, Cecil.” Cecil leans forwards until his chin rests in his elbows on the table. He smirks internally. He knows how to win.

Oh-so-subtly, he manifests one of his tattoos into an actual tentacle and slides it along under the table before wrapping around Carlos’ calf and tugging.

“Cecil…” But the radio host wasn’t listening.  The tentacle draws back and wraps around his upper thigh, squeezing gently. Carlos blinks.

“I win.” Cecil says with a smirk and a pertly short sentence. Carlos just scowls.

So. Fucking. Unfair.

 


	26. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TWENTY SIX: GETTING MARRIED  
> FANDOM: OURAN HIGHSCHOOL HOST CLUB  
> OTP: (PLATONICAL) KYOUYA OOTORI/ HARUHI FUJIOKA; TAMAKI SUOH/ HARUHI FUJIOKA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for not posting day twenty six yesterday, but you get two today.

Her nerves twist in her stomach as her fingers tick tick tick against her leg. Haruhi’s breathing is rapid in her throat and loud in her ears. She cannot focus on the dress. She can’t focus on her vows. She can’t focus on a damn thing because today she’s getting married to Tamaki Suoh.

Haruhi does what she’s been doing for years: think of her mother. The woman was extremely strong from her birth to her marriage and, finally, in her coffin. On that bed of death and beauty she looked as she did when she was at her most dangerous in the courtroom: calm, cool, collected, and composed. You couldn’t throw off her balance when she was like that, and it’s those moments, when all emotion takes a second to rational thought, that have inspired Haruhi through her many cases and late night studying.

She tries to recall that same feeling of being outside the emotional fold, but today she can’t find it. The door clicks open and admits a single visitor. Haruhi turns and tries to school her expression but, as always, her longtime friend and confidant sees right through the carefully constructed mask he’s privately dubbed the “minefield”.

“Nervous, Haruhi?” He knows Haruhi doesn’t completely trust him. She was independent when she met him and only became more so along the way. As it is, being a lawyer requires her to stand alone most days, since she takes some of the worst cases with the most gruesome details on the planet. He and Tamaki both have tried to rectify that, but without success. Besides, no one trusts the head a multi-trillion dollar company.

“Y-Yes.” Kyouya smiles gently. He knows this mood of hers. If he’s not careful, she’ll completely retreat behind the political and courtroom mask. If he is careful, he can save her wedding day.

“About which part?” Haruhi turns back to the window, dark suit at odds with the beautiful, flowing dress still on its hook.

“After.” Kyouya smiles gently. On the day his own mother died, he didn’t allow himself to cry, delegating to hide behind his own political mask. He grieved her death, but it was after that continually gnawed at him.

What would his father be like after? His sister? The entire company? How about his brothers? The grief was still there, but, like Haruhi, Kyouya’s mind tends to spiral along all potential paths and it was for this reason that Kyouya was very nearly admitted to a hospital because he was (a) grieving and (b) forgetting to eat and (c) afraid of his father. The man has never been the calmest. It wouldn’t take much for him to decide that Kyouya could carry the weight of their collective grief. He had long known of his eldest brother’s abusive tendencies. So yes, Kyouya had worried about after. Who doesn’t?” It isn’t what Haruhi needs to hear, though, so he casts about for something else to tell her about than that particularly dark chapter of his life.

“Do you remember that chess set?” Haruhi nods. She was seventeen, completing her last year of highschool, and Kyouya was nineteen, and five years away from his mother’s death. He had made the rare trip back to the high school to see the Hitachiin twins and check up on Haruhi.

At that point, Tamaki was (a) distracted by the business side of his life and (b) head over heels for a girl he wouldn’t be able to admit his feelings for until she turned eighteen. So Kyouya was being the friend he usually is, and watching his back. That was the day he had a chess bag looped over his Westwood.

Haruhi then proceeded to juggle the craziness of the new hosts (she was now “king” and watched the money), the Hitachiin twins, actually hosting, and keeping anything from getting broken while playing a total of five games with the Shadow King. She won three, and he won two. When Haruhi’s guests had cleared out, they had talked about their lives.

“Yes. I remember.”

“It is as you said back then. Don’t expect easy. Nothing’s ever easy. Stop worrying about it.  Life does that.” They had been talking about Kyouya’s role as the company’s heir.

“Ha. Was I really that flat?” He can see her exiting the mood, and he knows that all she needs is one more push.

“You want to know the truth about why I was there that day?” Haruhi turns to him, confused.

“Tamaki was too nervous of scaring you off or kissing you before you turned eighteen to come himself.” Haruhi smiled. Her mood is better. Crisis averted.

“Come on then, Haruhi. You have your best friend to marry, and I have my dearest friends to watch.” Kyouya leaves and admits a woman to help Haruhi dress.

…

Kyouya watches the only people to not be at least a little intimidated by his intelligence say their vows, and Kyouya knows it’s going to be alright.

 


	27. Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TWENTY SEVEN: ON ONE OF THEIR BIRTHDAYS  
> FANDOM: BLACK BUTLER  
> OTP: SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS/ CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

There is not a day that goes by that Sebastian doesn’t think about him. There isn’t a move he makes that isn’t thought of in relation to him. Because of this, he treads the line carefully, never daring to step off of it, in case the repercussions come back to hurt his master.

This day and moment is no different.

He stands behind Ciel, as he often does, and watches what goes on. Today is the day Sebastian expects his sojourn as the Phantomhive butler to end. As always, he thinks of what it will mean to Ciel. Not much, not at first, but soon he’ll be no better (and possibly far worse) than Alois.

“I’ll tell you everything your butler has hidden from you, for a price,” Nikolai says, handsome face as mesmerizing as it was when Sebastian first saw it. Ciel can’t see it though. He hasn’t the magic capabilities to see through the layer of glamour that keeps people from settling on one solid image of him.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because he won’t tell you. He protects you before he serves you. It’s encumbering, isn’t it?” Ciel is quiet for a long time.

“And the price?”

“Sebastian, of course.” With this information, Ciel won’t need a butler. He’s positive there are things he can learn that will enable him to live free of his snarky, protective, and (most recently) cold butler.

“Deal.” Sebastian nods at Ciel but doesn’t say a word as Nikolai calls him to his side. The “butler” knew things were going to end badly since the carriage ride, when Ciel had kissed him and gotten nothing in return.

Nikolai shrouds them in darkness after giving Ciel a Key and instructions on how to use it. The second sentence he speaks is one that Sebastian has loathed for the longest time.

“Happy Birthday, Sebastian.”

 


	28. Just Joking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TWENTY EIGHT: DOING SOMETHING RIDICULOUS  
> FANDOM: WELCOME TO NIGHTVALE  
> OTP: CECIL BALDWIN/ CARLOS GARCIA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the actions of both characters aren't actually that ridiculous, but I wasn't sure how to write this one other than to write about what would be mundane to us and ridiculous to them alone.

It is, of course, absolutely stupid to stand high on a storage room shelf and peer cautiously at a lidded petri dish by penlight.  What’s even dumber is that Carlos, though he does this without hesitation, is, in fact, afraid of heights.

Cecil stalks the halls of Carlos’ lab, softly calling his name, trying to convince him that he was never going to break his petri dish and while he would have loved to liberate it long enough to get some attention from his ever distracted boyfriend, he wouldn’t dream of being so cruel to someone he loves so much.Unfortunately for everyone’s favourite radio host, the gentle, slightly dry humor of Cecil Baldwin sometimes evades Carlos’ understanding when he hasn’t had sleep in quite some time.

“Really, wonderful Carlos, I wouldn’t dream of breaking it.” The voice is pleading. Cecil knows of Carlos’ fear of heights and doesn’t believe him brave enough (or dumb enough) to be up on the storage room shelves and so he doesn’t look up when he searches the large, concrete room with solid, heavy duty metal shelves. Small boxes and crates line the first, second, and third shelves, while the heavy duty, mass production bulk products sit on the third and fourth ones. Carlos crouches behind a crate at the far end of the room on the fourth shelf. Carefully, on hearing his name, the scientist caps the petri dish and puts in into his lab coat pocket before turning off his penlight.

“When I said “I’ll break it” I really didn’t mean it. Why would I ever want to break something you love?” Cecil calls.

Logic begins to take over as the initial rush of protective adrenaline floods through Carlos’ mind, leaving him to dissect the conversation. Oh. Now that he’s thinking about it, he can hear the utter change of tone in Cecil’s voice, dropping from conversational to flat. He never sounds flat, unless he’s being sarcastic or funny.

In the past, his utter personality change has caused Carlos to damn near piss himself with laughter. He’s even made similar remarks about similar petri dishes. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Carlos admonishes himself before venturing around to the other side of the crate. Of course he had been joking.

The moment before he’s about to call out to Cecil, he looks down. Anyone who’s ever been up high doing anything will say that you shouldn’t look down unless your life depends on it. Definitely look down then. Carlos’ life doesn’t depend on looking down, it depends on concentrating on making his way down the metal shelving and crates and boxes without damaging anything.

Carlos’ voice catches in his now incredibly dry throat. Not heights, he thinks for the first time. Not again. He still remembers the painful experiences that deeply ingrained this fear into his dark head. He can feel his breathing accelerate and tries to calm himself down, but it isn’t working. Carlos isn’t just afraid of heights, he’s terrified of them.

A pained gasp escapes his throat as he presses himself up against the bulk crate. Cecil hears it, looks up, and immediately begins to shed his layers until his tentacles can freely manifest up and down his spine. It takes five seconds to get from three yards away from Carlos’ shelf to the top of it, right in front of his panicking boyfriend.

The first thing Cecil does is hug him, and the press of warm skin and tentacles against Carlos’ body makes things a bit alright. But he’s still four shelves up.

“Carlos.”

“Y-yes?” Cecil rubs his hand up and down Carlos’ back, serving to distract the sleepless scientist.

“Where is your petri dish?” Oh. It’s still in his pocket. He pulls it out and doesn’t hesitate to hand it over. Cecil won’t break it. He knows that now. Slowly, Cecil talks Carlos through climbing down, and finally, when they reach the ground, Cecil kisses him on the forehead, retracts his tentacles, and returns the petri dish.

“Are you all right now, wonderful Carlos?” Carlos nods, and Cecil can see that his pupils are still dilated. Cecil promises that this is the last time he does something so ridiculous as to joke about what Carlos loves.

 


	29. Bins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY TWENTY NINE: DOING SOMETHING SWEET  
> FANDOM: SHERLOCK  
> OTP: SHERLOCK HOLMES/ JOHN WATSON

To say he hadn’t planned this was the understatement of the year. It had started simply enough. He had woken, made tea, and drank it in the living room. It was only when he looked in the fridge did his day take a turn from his first day off in about three weeks (with no cases that weren’t solved in an hour) to doing something he regularly avoided: touching Sherlock’s body parts.

The were spread all over the fridge and there was hardly any food (all of which was going in the trash can, on the the strong belief that when something edible sits for a few days next to a bag of fingers, it becomes inedible.

John opened both doors and the freezer too and, upon discovering that there was no food anywhere in the house and just a bunch of dismembered organs and body parts in plastic bags, decides to do something about it.

John closed the door, gathered a notebook and pen, and sat down in his chair. When he had completed a list of groceries, he stood, got dressed for the day, and headed out.

…

Sherlock stared at the fridge, tried to find the fingers, and failed. He shrugs and looks for about ten more minutes before finding them. When he had done what he came to do, he left.

…

John reentered the flat not so long after he left- perhaps an hour or two. In his hands he bore two different kinds of groceries- one of plastic bins, and the other of foodstuffs.

He opens the fridge once again

…

The next time Sherlock opens the fridge, he takes but a moment to examine the transformed innards before cracking a small, oft-unseen genuine smile.

The upper half of the fridge was occupied mainly by green bins, with simple labels like _fruits, vegetables, meat (for eating),_ and _miscellaneous_. The lower half of the shelf was organised in much the same way, except instead of food labels on green bins, blue bins bore the names _fingers, heads,_ and all of the most commonly brought home parts. There were places for ongoing experiments, as well as bins in the freezer labeled in much the same way. Sherlock smiled. He really must keep the body parts away from the food now, if only to avoid John reaching his hand into the fruits bin and coming out with a bag of testacles. This time around, it takes him no time at all to find the fingers.

 


	30. The Winter Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY THIRTY: DOING SOMETHING HOT  
> FANDOM: BLACK BUTLER  
> OTP: CIEL PHANTOMHIVE/ SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so if you were wondering where this whole thing came from, I'm writing a black butler fanfic called "The Pariah's Rules" and every black butler short is a scene or its alternate version actually happens within that AU.

He hadn’t seen him in quite some time and, truth be told, he misses his butler terribly. So when the invitation that comes with the rest of his mail to attend an annual gathering referred to as the Tea Party, one of the thoughts (or several) that runs through his head is whether or not Sebastian would be there.

So it’s with eagerness under the pretense of regality that he is measured for a new evening suit in a new style designed to neither be so crotchety nor look so stuffy. The suit is egyptian cotton and silk in classic black with white highlights.

When the evening of the dance dawns, Ciel looks in the mirror one last time at the small scrap of fabric folded in his breast pocket. It, too, is white. Swifty, he exchanges the white fabric for red silk and refolds it in a way he’s seen Sebastian do many times and tucks it away.

Quickly, Ciel descends the massive carpeted steps into the foyer, selects the matching cane by the door, and holds still for Meyrin to help him into his evening coat. Finally, he heads out into the night and towards a solid black carriage. Meyrin closes the door behind him and shuts it quietly, knowing that tonight of all nights is not the night for mishaps.

Ciel steps into the carriage through the door held by a faceless servant in a long overcoat with a gaping hood. He spares the man a glance and has to force himself to keep moving. For a moment, that almost looked like Sebastian. He sold Sebastian, though, so the supernatural wouldn’t hold the door open for him even if he wasn’t preoccupied with the Nightmare King.

The carriage travels a distance away from the house until there are neither watchers nor listeners. The driver waves his lantern in a perfect circle. A portal appears, and Ciel Phantomhive pulls back the velvet draperies to find himself pulling up to the circular driveway of a massive, beautiful, absolutely lit up manor house of grecian columns and roman design.

All around him, coal black carriages are exhaling beautiful, odd guests. A woman in a glittering, champagne colored cocktail sheath has a golden tail of the same color swirling along behind her. Her dark hair is piled and wrapped atop her head, exposing the lovely line of her neck. Her escort is dressed completely in red and has a fox’s tail protruding from the back of his double-breasted suit in the exact same color.

His familiar wild red hair has been tamed into one long braid extending all the way down his back, black ribbons woven throughout. When he turns away from his friend far enough, Ciel can see that Grell Sutcliff is absolutely miserable.

Ciel does not disembark until Sutcliff and his friend have moved away. He heads up the steps, his cane tapping. Blending in with the crowd, Ciel spots William in his signature pompous black when he enters the massive foyer. The house is easily twice the size of Phantomhive Manor. Ciel sees several guests and learns there names before running into Undertaker.

“Good evening, Undertaker.” The man is as mysteriously annoying as ever in all flowing black.

“Lord Phantomhive.”

“Is Sebastian here?” The reaper grins, but doesn’t get the chance to answer before there is a roar near the center of the floor. Ciel and the rest of the guests turn to watch two vampri- the children of one or two vampire parents- circling each other.

Quite suddenly, Ciel’s question is no longer important, because he recognizes something in the movements of the pale fighter. He turns to Undertaker for the second time in as many minutes.

“Who are they?” Undertaker cracks a smirk and answers without moving his head.

“That, Lord Phantomhive, is Ezra and Dominic Thorne, otherwise known as the Summer Prince and the Winter Prince: the eldest and youngest offspring of Victor Thorne, one of the oldest living vampires on the planet.”

…

The Winter Prince draws him like nothing else, and so he waits for the silver-haired fighter to slip away before looking to make his acquaintance. He finds him playing pool.

Dominic bends over the pool table, sighting down his cue at the yellow three ball. He looks beautiful in his pale suit, and Ciel can’t quite convince himself that he was definitely not staring at his ass and legs, one in front of the other, looking so graceful that Ciel finds himself wanting to feel them, just to check and make sure this is actually Dominic.

Everything about the way he holds himself is graceful. His hand on the end of the cue is bent downwards, slim fingers wrapping around the barrel in a way so appealing that Ciel forces his gaze to move on. the hand balancing the cue is no less graceful. Three fingers lay with their tips pressed into the table, with index and thumb actually holding the cue. Dominic’s head tilts from one side to the other as he takes a final aim and snaps the cue forwards to sink the three ball into the farthest left pocket.

Ciel opens his mouth, but doesn’t get the chance to say anything because Dominic has turned to look at him and Ciel makes his eyes rise to meet the most shocking pair of pale eyes he’s ever witnessed. The blink at him, waiting for him to say something. He steps forwards and holds out his hand to shake.

“Ciel Phantomhive.” Dominic watches Ciel’s hand in silence. Ciel drops it. Only then does Dominic speak.

“Dominic von Thorne.”  Ciel opens his mouth to speak again, but Dominic turns to walk around the pool table to sight down the cue in that same pose as before at the striped burgundy fifteen ball. He sinks it and the solid five. As he does, Ciel has to stop his mouth from watering at the concentration in his eyes so that the beautiful intelligence in them don’t pick his emotions up.

It takes Ciel until the end of the game- five balls, two stripes, three solids- before he realizes how the Winter Prince makes playing pool so damn sexy.

“Sebastian?” Dominic looks up, and Ciel knows he’s right. He takes a step closer as Dominic goes out onto the balcony, pulls out a cigar, lights it up, and draws in a long breath of smoke. The little lord joins him, unable to stay away despite disservice and pride.

He looks straight ahead, because even if he wanted to, he can’t deny the fact that seeing Dominics lips- bitten red with concentration- is altogether even worse than watching him play.  He opens his mouth to speak again, but Dominic falls backwards off the stone railing and towards the cold expanse of cold waterfall and a booby-trapped pool of collected water.

“Sebastian!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, my friends, is the end of the writing challenge!


End file.
